


Accidents, Trolls, and All Night Coffee

by mahoni



Category: Panic At The Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magical Creatures, Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahoni/pseuds/mahoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer, Brendon and Ryan get lost on their way home from a concert and end up in Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents, Trolls, and All Night Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinshan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shinshan).



There was only one market, but there were a million ways to get in and out.

Keeping track of your exit was really important, too. Landmarks didn't always stay in one place in the market, and the difference between any given set of doors could be something as small as a rusty hinge or an extra plank. Or, for example, the door back to Las Vegas had a goosehead door handle that winked, but there was one nearby that had a goosehead door handle that scowled instead.

If someone wasn't paying attention -- if some people had been at a concert for gods only knew how long, say, and were really, really tired and maybe also distracted by the kappas brawling in the tank-beast lumbering past them on the crowded lane -- it was pretty easy to take the wrong door on accident.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Ryan said. "Who the hell carries moon sapphires around instead of money?"

Spencer didn't say so, but he disagreed with Ryan. The stupidest thing _he'd_ ever heard of was millions of look-alike doors with no fucking labels on them.

But the doors were troll-built and troll-maintained, and the trolls refused to label them. And on top of that, each city-side entrance was locked by a different code, or spell, or set of magic words. If you went out the wrong door and ended up somewhere new, somewhere you didn't know the trick to opening the door, getting back could be a problem.

Which, of course, was the entire point.

"Not my problem," the troll said. "I got a price. Unless you can come up with the door code, you gotta pay it or you don't get through."

Ryan turned away and clamped his hands on his head, making a snarly sound of frustration. His breath smoked in the cold air.

Brendon had his arms wrapped around himself, standing hunched and shivering between Spencer and Ryan. It was partly from the cold. It was the dead of night in this place, wherever they were, and also the dead of bitter winter. The temperature in Vegas when they'd left had been in the low 60's, though, and weather in the troll market was always temperate, no matter if you were used to cold or heat, so none of them were wearing anything heavier than long-sleeved t-shirts. The troll was made of stone and couldn't feel the cold, but they were fucking freezing.

"Couldn't we make a deal?" Brendon said. "For some other kind of payment?"

His eyes got big as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Brendon was not actually stupid; he was just cold and suffering from the good-natured naiveté he tended to default to when he wasn't paying attention.

On cue, the troll leered. "Sure. I'm always open to a little bartering."

Beneath a fake leather jacket and filthy silk shirt, the troll wore the disguise of a man. It also had gold caps on a couple of its teeth and slicked back hair; a thin patch of greasy curls showed on its chest where it had left the top several buttons of the shirt undone. On top of that it gave off an odor of rot strong enough that Spencer didn't even have to work at being able to smell it over the general alley stench.

Spencer wondered, horribly, if the troll wasn't using a glamour, if it had actually eaten a pimp and taken his skin as well as his clothes.

Either way, it inhabited the role pretty well.

In a blink it had stepped up close to them. Its eyes glinted, diamond-like, in the dim street light as it reached out and looped a lock of Ryan's hair around a finger.

"I have customers who pay real well to spend a little time with a faun," it said. Its teeth were crooked and stained when it smiled. "Bet you could earn enough to pay your way and your friends' in no time."

Ryan slapped its hand away and backed up a step.

"I'm not a fucking faun," he said.

The troll shrugged. "Satyr, faun, whatever." It got a comb out of its pocket and combed back its borrowed hair. It let its eyes roam Ryan up and down, adding, "I know your kind tends to be a little wilder, but I bet you could play innocent and fragile and cry real sweet for my clients if you had to."

Ryan's mouth settled into a hard line. Somebody who didn't know him very well would probably think he had clenched his hands into fists at his sides out of anger. Spencer did know him, though, and knew it was to keep his hands from shaking out of fear.

Well, and anger. Knowing Ryan, he'd probably punch the troll if it touched him again, and then break his hand _and_ get his ass kicked.

Grabbing Brendon by the back of the shirt, Spencer spun him and gave him a shove toward the mouth of the alley.

"We'll figure something else out, thanks," he said. He walked backward, tugging Ryan along with him with a loose grip on his wrist, until it was clear the troll wasn't going to do anything but stay where it was and laugh at them.

"You do that, kiddies," the troll called. "I'll be here if you change your minds."

*

"Shit," Ryan breathed when they were out of the alley. He dragged his hands down over his hair, flattening it to his head. He'd been growing it out for a while, and it was almost shoulder-length. "I am so cutting my hair when we get home. Shit."

He shuddered, and then he shot a glare at Brendon and side-stepped to bump him hard. "Fuck, Brendon. Thanks a lot for getting us stuck here."

Brendon glared back. "What -- fuck you, Ry, you were the one who said it was our door."

"_You_ were the one who agreed with me. If you'd been paying more attention we wouldn't be here."

Brendon stopped and planted his hands on his hips, opening his mouth to argue.

Spencer grumbled under his breath and pushed him to keep him moving. "And _I'm_ the one who didn't say 'hey, is it just me or does it look like the market stalls in this row have all shifted south since we came through earlier?'"

Which, god he felt like an idiot. Letting Ryan and Brendon navigate the market usually turned out okay, but as far as he was concerned it was his job to make absolutely sure they didn't get lost and end up in strange cities with 'whoring themselves out' as one of their few options for getting home. This time he'd been tired and distracted and, just, _tired_. Tiredness was not an excuse for being an idiot, though.

"Let's just find someplace where we can go and figure this out without freezing to death," Spencer said. "Or getting mugged."

Now that they were out of the alley, it was clear that they were in a spectacularly bad part of whatever city they were in. Probably not surprising given that the troll guarding the market door was disguised as a pimp.

On the other hand, the market door in London was in a pretty upscale shopping district, but the troll guarding it was a huge, ugly brute that didn't bother much with masking glamours and never wore clothes. Also, it required anyone who didn't know the door's magic words to let it beat them bloody as payment for being allowed through. So there was really no telling what a neighborhood would be like just based on the local troll.

This neighborhood did match its troll, though. It was full of bars and clubs advertising naked women, grimy liquor stores and half-abandoned buildings. There were people out, but they were the kind of people who made Spencer feel very, very young, and made him wish he'd hurry up and reach manhood so he could grow a damn beard.

Plus, once he hit twenty he'd be able to shift. It wasn't like he would actually transform into a griffin in the middle of the human sector of a city unless circumstances were seriously dire, but instead of being terrified of the pack of skeevy guys wolf-whistling at them from across the street he'd at least know he had the option to fly away or rend them limb from limb if they came any closer.

And shifting in secluded alleys was allowed; he could have done some serious damage to that fucking troll.

"Oh," Brendon said suddenly. "Ohhhhh yes. _Coffee._"

He sped up, getting several paces ahead of Ryan and Spencer before Spencer even saw the sign swinging from a metal gantry above the door. Unlike the rest of the places on the street, the sign wasn't done in neon. The name of the place was written in white on a black background and lit by a tiny spotlight: 'Angels &amp; Kings,' and beneath that, in smaller print, some words Spencer couldn't make out as well as a couple he could: 'All Night Coffee.'

Brendon had stopped to hold the door for a guy and his girlfriend. They weren't really dressed for hanging out in a coffee shop. The guy had on leather pants and a skin-tight t-shirt under a coat that Spencer could swear was fur-lined, and the woman was wearing a really, _really_ short, slinky dress with _really_ high heels. They barely glanced at Brendon as they went in.

"Are you sure this is a coffee --" Spencer said, but he broke off as he stepped up to the door.

When he looked inside, for a moment the room looked huge and dark, filled with noise and flashing lights; but in a blink that was gone. What was left was a cozy, warmly lit little shop. The smell of coffee and fresh-baked bread and cookies wafted out.

"Did you just see --" he said.

"Yeah," Brendon said.

"Thank god," Ryan said, ducking in past Brendon.

The place wasn't packed, but there were a respectable number of people there. Spencer didn't see the couple who had gone in before them, but he wasn't really surprised by that. They had been dressed more for the place he'd glimpsed before coming in, wherever that was. He didn't give a damn about them, though, because the important thing was that the human slouched on the couch with her feet on the coffee table at the back was apparently arguing poetry with Bigfoot.

Also, a harpy was perched on the back of a chair with a teacup held carefully in the talons of one foot, a book open on the table in front of it; and the group of kids at the counter totally could have passed for human except for the fact that they all had tails and fuzzy pointed ears.

"A safe zone," Spencer said. He felt a little dizzy with relief. Or that might be exhaustion and possibly hunger. It struck him that he had no idea how long it had been since he last ate anything.

"There's got to be somebody here who can tell us how to get back through the troll door," Brendon said. "They probably get that a lot, right? Being the closest safe zone to the door?"

"Sure," Ryan said. "I bet they get hundreds of morons a day who blunder through the wrong door and can't get back without selling their asses on the street."

Spencer grimaced. A safe zone this close to a door probably did get people now and then who hadn't meant to end up here, because that kind of mistake was pretty inevitable. That did not mean Spencer wasn't going to feel like a complete idiot having to admit they'd done it.

"Well, we either ask somebody here for help or we call my parents," he said.

"I think I'd probably choose prostitution over calling your parents," Ryan muttered.

Spencer shot him a bitchface. He knew Ryan wasn't being mean, though; Ryan hated imposing on Spencer's parents more than he had to. Which was sometimes awkward seeing as he practically lived with them.

"Whatever," Spencer said. "Coffee and food first, embarrassing conversations with the baristas later."

They waited behind the cat people until it was their turn to order. The coffee shop wasn't a chain, and it turned out it also wasn't one of those douchey places that called smalls 'tall' or stuck Italian words in the names of the different flavors.

It also didn't bother with macchiatos since there were already cappuccinos on the menu board. Spencer bet Ryan was disappointed. Ryan loved ordering macchiatos mostly, as far as Spencer was concerned, because he thought it sounded cooler than 'cappuccino.'

"You ready?" The guy at the register handed cups off to the guy making the drinks. "Or you need a few more minutes?"

Brendon rubbed his hands together vigorously and bounced a little on his toes -- part warming up, part natural energy, part unholy glee at the prospect of _coffee_. Spencer groaned inwardly.

"Gimme a large raspberry mocha. Extra shot of chocolate," Brendon said.

The guy grabbed a cup and scribbled on it. "Soy milk?" he said.

Brendon nodded distractedly while he examined the pastry case.

"Half-caf?" the guy said.

At that Brendon looked up at him. He paused his bouncing and made a face. "Yeah, I should probably go with half-caf. Otherwise I'll be bouncing off the walls all night. And can I get one of those?" He pointed at a huge, gooey cinnamon role.

"Sure thing. Is this --"

"All on one tab," Spencer said.

He was designated money carrier for the night. They tended to come home from the troll market with Ryan and Brendon hiding alarming things in their pockets if they had free rein with their own money. Uncontrollable mind-altering things, occasionally. Inadvertently life-threatening things, sometimes. Even, on one memorable occasion, a thing that exploded the next day.

(It had been a tiny, spelled firecracker box, and had gone off like it was the Fourth of July. It had scared the crap out of Brendon's roommate and their dog, and one of their neighbors had called the cops. At least Brendon had taken the thing out of his pocket by then.)

The guy gave Spencer and smile and nodded, then turned to Ryan.

"Cappuccino," Ryan said. Glumly. "Large, skim."

Making a note on another cup the guy said, "You know, we don't have it on the board, but I could make that for you macchiato-style if you wanted. It's a little different than a cap but it's good."

Ryan's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I love macchiato. That would be awesome, thanks."

When the guy turned to Spencer, Spencer just stared at him.

"You know what you want yet, or do you need a little more time?" the guy said.

"No, I know what I want. I'm just waiting for you to tell me what it is," Spencer said.

Because seriously. Pegging Brendon -- vegetarian, but not like he wore a label on his forehead advertising the fact -- for soy and Ryan for a macchiato? What the hell.

The guy grinned. "Awesome," he said, and then tilted his head and gave Spencer a considering look.

His eyes were very dark, but friendly, and his smile came easy. He didn't look like a creep. He was maybe kind of cute. For values of 'kind of' that equaled 'and also pretty hot' actually -- Spencer gave himself a mental slap upside the head. This was a coffee shop sandwiched between a strip club and a topless bar. Also situated a block down from a troll who wanted to be Ryan's pimp. And it wasn't like evil things always lured people in with beauty. Coffee could be pretty damn alluring, too...

_Evil coffee,_ Spencer thought. _Right. Wow, I need sleep._ He wondered how long the leprechaun concert had lasted. It was cool the way days could pass outside the venue at those concerts without anyone inside noticing, but the magic-induced lack of sleep always left Spencer feeling a little like his brain was leaking out his ears.

"Well," the guy said finally. "You're either going to go for a large black coffee and a piece of coffee cake, or you're going to decide to live dangerously and get a vanilla latte and a caramel apple muffin."

Spencer blinked at him. He hadn't noticed there were caramel apple muffins, so he had not in fact been deciding between that and coffee cake. He sure as hell was now, though. _Caramel apple_. Yeah.

Whatever expression Spencer had on his face, it made the guy laugh. "Dude, hey, chill. I'm not, like, psychic or anything. I've just been working here forever. You get a sense for what people are going to ask for. That's all."

"I didn't think you were psychic," Spencer said. Maybe a little defensively, because it really irritated him when people laughed at him no matter how cute and hot and probably not evil they were. "And I'll go with the second order. Skim for the latte."

He paid, he and Brendon got their pastries, and they snagged a table. Ryan tried to aim them at a table in the back, but Brendon said, "Ooh, no, we have to sit at that one!" and made a beeline for a table near the door.

Dropping into one of the chairs, Brendon ran his hand over the table top, gazing dreamily at it. It was inlaid with gleaming chips of glass, a mosaic done in jewel tones. Brendon was the least typical dwarf Spencer had ever met -- way more Disney than Tolkien -- but his capacity for getting distracted by shiny things, at least, would have made any dwarvish mother proud.

"I love this table," Brendon said. "If I had a bottomless bag I would totally steal it."

Spencer set his plate down and pulled a chair out for himself. "Yes, because stealing one of their tables is a great way to get somebody who works here to help us."

Ryan snagged Spencer's plate and tore a huge chunk out of the muffin before Spencer could grab it back.

*

"Raspberry mocha."

The cup appeared suddenly in front of Brendon, and Brendon jumped.

"Macchiato, aaaaaand --" The coffee guy set Ryan's drink on the table, and then Spencer's. "A vanilla latte. Skim."

Instead of leaving, the guy hesitated, smiling at them for a moment, sort of shyly. Then he gestured to the empty chair beside Spencer.

"Hey, you guys mind if I sit down for a minute? I have a break, and it'd be cool to not have to spend it staring at the shelf full of coffee in the back by myself."

"Uh," Spencer said.

"Cool," the guy said, and pulled out the chair and sat. "How's the muffin?"

"Uh," Spencer said. The guy smelled like coffee, but also like smoke. Not cigarette smoke, or weed; more like he'd been hanging out around a campfire. It was weird, but weirdly pleasant. "Fine. No, wait, I haven't tried it yet."

As hungry as he'd been, he hadn't done more than poke at the muffin so far. He was too wound up about being somewhere unfamiliar and far from home, and having to depend on the kindness of strangers, and feeling so incredibly brainless and tired.

"It's great," Ryan said. "I'd steal the rest from Spencer but I think he'd bite my hand off."

The guy beamed at him.

"Awesome. I came up with those this morning. They were supposed to just be apple muffins but, you know, how could it _not_ be better with caramel, right?"

And then there was awkward silence. Spencer wondered how much more fun the guy was having than he would have had staring at bags of coffee. He'd probably be more entertained as soon as Spencer -- or Ryan or Brendon, but it would probably be Spencer -- could work up the balls to spill about their fuck-up.

"So," the guy said after a minute. "My name's Jon, by the way." He tapped his name tag, which Spencer hadn't paid any attention to before. "And if you guys don't mind me saying, you look kind of lost." He paused. "In the literal sense, not the --" he did a squiggly little half-shrug. "Existential."

Spencer felt a flush start on his cheeks; Ryan looked shifty; and Brendon laughed weakly and said, "Oh. Really?"

Propping his chin in his hand, elbow on the table, Jon blew the hair out of his eyes and smiled wryly. "Let me guess. Wrong door. No idea where you are. Dave wants to pimp one or more of you out as payment for getting back in. Am I close?"

Ignoring the way his face felt like it was beet-red, and with as much dignity as he could muster, Spencer said, "Yeah. You get that a lot around here?"

Jon shrugged again, this time sympathetic. "Enough. But mostly, folks who live in Chicago or come here on purpose don't tend to wander around in the middle of winter without coats."

"We were hoping somebody here could give us the door code, or take us through," Spencer said.

"Oh yeah," Jon said. "Definitely."

The bell over the door tinkled and a couple of guys came in. They shrugged off their coats and shook out the wings that had been furled beneath. The dark-haired one made a wistful, needy sound and headed straight for the counter. The taller one had caught sight of Jon.

"Hey, Jon." He took off his glasses off to wipe the steam off them on his t-shirt, squinting in their general direction. "Is Pete here?"

"Hey, Mikey, yeah, just a second," Jon said. Then to Spencer and the others, "I have to help these guys, but --" He glanced at his watch as he shoved his chair back and stood. "My shift gets over in about an hour. I can take you back to the market then. Okay?"

"Sure, that's perfect," Spencer said. "Thanks."

For a second, after Jon jogged off, Spencer and Brendon and Ryan stared at each other.

"That was less humiliating than I was expecting," Brendon said.

Ryan picked up his coffee, wrapping his hands around it and sitting back comfortably in his seat.

"So can we still tell people I whored myself out to get you guys home?" His grin went crooked and satyrically fiendish. "Everybody would freak out. That would be hilarious."

*

Dave the troll's leer fell into a grimace when it saw Jon with them.

"Shit, Walker," it said. "Do I come into your place and steal your customers?"

Jon smiled, easy and open, but it wasn't the friendly smile Spencer had seen Jon give them or the other customers at the coffee shop. "No, but only because you know if you do Wentz'll track you down and eat your eyes out."

The troll scowled and turned away from them. Leaning against the alley wall it lit a cigarette, abruptly acting as though they weren't even there.

Jon returned the favor, taking the three of them past the troll without a second glance. They stopped in front of the graffiti circle and Spencer stepped close with Jon to watch him open it. He figured that on the off chance they came back to Chicago again it would be useful to know how to get home without having to turn tricks.

"Wentz?" Ryan said.

"Pete. My boss."

Jon trailed his fingertips over the circle in an almost random pattern. He did it slowly; Spencer realized Jon was giving him time to memorize the code.

"You work for something that eats peoples' eyes?" Brendon said.

"Pete's a hobgoblin," Jon said, stepping back as the circle flashed.

For a moment the circle looked like a delicate engraving done in silver and gold instead of like a crude spray-painted sketch. Relief washed through Spencer as the wall shimmered and began to open for them. Not that he'd distrusted Jon. Actually, he had trusted him, and he was really glad it turned out not to be a mistake. Spencer had not exactly been batting a thousand in the intuition-and-observation department tonight. Hell of a griffin he was, seriously. It was like he'd regressed back to a cub or something.

They all stepped through the door into the eternal twilight of the troll market. The noise and bustle rolled over them like a dust storm, harsh and familiar. Brendon threw his arms out, nearly whacking a passing hydrasapien in one of its heads.

"Fuck yeah," Brendon said. "Slum sweet slum, oh how I missed you."

"We've only been gone for three hours, dork," Ryan said. He looked as relieved as Brendon, though.

And at a shout from nearby Ryan went up on his toes, scanning over the crowd until he saw the source. A huge cap fungus had sprouted from the side of a building across the lane since they'd been gone. A worm shaped blob sat on it, waving its hookah, hawking Breath of Heaven for a few gold pennies a hit. Ryan's eyes lit up. Spencer rolled his eyes and shoved Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan sighed and dropped back to flat-footed. "Man, you are no fun."

"Next time. We have to get home."

"Hey," Brendon said suddenly to Jon. "So when we first got to the coffee shop it -- I don't know how to explain it. It was like, it looked like somewhere else for a second, just after this girl and her boyfriend went in. What was up with that?"

"Yeah, Angels and Kings is a coffee shop and a nightclub," Jon said. "You used to be able to choose at the door which one you wanted it to be, but we got busted a couple of times for serving to minors at the club, so now only the coffee shop shows up for under-twenty-ones." He grinned suddenly. "Which is totally fine with me. I definitely prefer working the coffee shop side full time. Fewer incubi and succubi hanging around trying to get all handsy with me."

"That's pretty cool," Brendon said. And then, demonstrating why even a half-caf mocha was a bad idea at this time of night, he dropped that subject and skipped a few steps backwards. "I bet you guys that I can find the Vegas door first."

"Oh my god, are you twelve?" Ryan said, but took off when Brendon did, shoving people out of his way to keep up.

"Hey," Spencer said to Jon. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem."

Jon was looking around. Beneath the heady odors of spice and incense and fey folk Spencer caught Jon's scent again -- coffee, and that strange smell of heat and smoke.

Standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, perpetual easy half-smile and hair falling in his eyes, Jon looked scruffy and sweet, and completely human. When he glanced over and caught Spencer looking at him, though, a sharp, amber glint warmed his eyes for just a moment. It could have just been the will-o-the-wisp lights catching in his eyes and making their dark brown momentarily light, but Spencer didn't think so.

Before Jon could say anything -- like 'nice meeting you, goodbye' -- Spencer said quickly, "Since when do hobgoblins eat eyes?"

He cringed inwardly. _Give me the dish on your boss who is apparently a murdering fiend_ wasn't the world's best conversation-starter.

Jon blinked at him, forehead creasing.

"Um. Your boss?" Spencer said. "Who the troll is afraid of?"

"Oh, right." Shrugging, Jon said, "Well, it's just a rumor. Some people say his dad was some kind of demon, and that Pete's gotten to where he is -- with the club, and he owns a record company and stuff -- through less than savory means. Nobody can prove anything, but." He shrugged again.

"He doesn't do anything to correct people one way or another?" Spencer said.

For a second Spencer got that sharp look again, though it was less open and a little more calculating this time; and then it was gone -- again -- and Jon smiled.

"Some of us know better, but mostly no. It keeps people like Dave from hassling friends and customers. Pete's willing to take a hit to his rep for that kind of thing." He laughed short and softly. "And hell, it might actually be true. It would definitely explain a few things if it was."

Spencer raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Sounds like an interesting guy."

"Definitely interesting. But a good guy." Jon craned his head a little, gazing through the crowd. "Looks like your friends are ready to go."

Ryan and Brendon had apparently found the Vegas door. There was a goblin set up next to it selling all kinds of weird, colorful fruit from a tented wagon. Brendon had hopped up onto one of the wagon's enormous wheels, hanging onto a tent pole, ignoring the goblin when it leaned across the wagon to poke him with its stick. When Brendon saw Spencer looking their way he waved. Spencer could barely hear him shout "Spence, come on!" over the market din.

"Yeah, I guess I should head home," Spencer said. "I really appreciate you helping us out. You didn't have to go out of your way for us. That was really nice."

"No problem," Jon said. "And it wasn't out of my way. I figured I could hook up with my cousins while I'm here, anyway. Maybe stretch my wings a little."

He nodded toward a grassy hillock that rose out of the bustle of the market a little way off. A couple people lounged on the slope with a small cluster of dragons. Another dragon soared in from the west, waiting until it was just a few feet from the top of the hill before shifting into the shape of a dark-haired girl. She dropped the rest of the way to the ground, stretched luxuriously, and then flopped down to sit against the closest dragon's belly.

"Oh," Spencer said. And then, "_Oh._"

That explained the weird smoky smell.

"Yup." Jon smiled. "So anyway. It was good to meet you, Spencer."

"You too." Spencer hesitated. "Hey, have you ever been to Las Vegas?"

Jon shook his head. "Is that where you're from? I figured it was someplace south, what with the lack of appropriate winter apparel. And the tans."

Spencer nodded, and said as casually as he could manage, "Yeah. And, like, if you were ever in town and you wanted to hang out. Or see the sights. Whatever. That would be cool."

Jon's smile widened. "That would be very cool, man. You should come back to the coffee shop again sometime too. I'm there most of the time. And if I'm not, I live upstairs. Just --" He gave Spencer a soft nudge with his elbow. "If you come back soon -- like, this weekend maybe? -- wear a coat."

"Sounds good." Spencer tried not to smile too big -- Ryan told him he looked even more like a girl when he smiled too big. "A coat. This weekend."

He started moving away, but forgot for a second to pay attention to things other than Jon's big, dark eyes and warm scent. A treeling came out of nowhere and Spencer had to duck to not clothesline himself on one of its low-hanging branches. Giving Jon a quick, hopefully not too embarrassed wave, Spencer turned and headed for Vegas.


End file.
